The Normal One
by FourEyedGentleman
Summary: An extension of Seth's destructive lifestyle, Kate braves the intensity of womanhood alone. Seth grows increasingly cruel and unpredictable; unsure of what role to play in her life; be it: father, brother, teacher or captor. The line between hostage and ally blurs, as Seth tries to distance himself from the temptation of becoming a deviant Richie would have been proud to smirk at.
1. Down in Mexico

**A/N: I own nothing and no one featured in this story, or the Tarantino/Rodriquez universe. I make no profits from this or any fics written or posted.  
>So everybody be cool. You... be cool.<strong>

**Synopsis:**_ An extension of Seth's destructive lifestyle, Kate braves the intensity of womanhood alone. Seth grows increasingly cruel and unpredictable; unsure of what role to play in her life; be it: father, brother, teacher or captor. The line between hostage and ally blurs, as Seth tries to distance himself from the temptation of becoming a deviant Richie would have been proud to smirk at._

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><p>Like most books that should be shelved after the story has been told, Kate Fuller was not so quick to seal the bindings and place her story somewhere in the back of her mind like all her other memories. After all, she had only just begun to spread the pages of a new chapter. The words of her story had not yet been lost to circumstance; any more than the unforeseeable chain of events which lead two brothers, selfishly dedicated to one another's patrimonial strides for <em>more<em>, had left her completely alone.

Kate had been a complacent girl; oblivious, naïve to a fault but always grateful. She had family and faith; she had love. Even still, in an instant, she had lost more than she ever even knew she had. She blinked and opened her eyes to nothingness. A life of privilege, wide-eyes, family and love: stolen from her. Carnage trailed behind her like a chain binding her to every horrific moment she'd ever endured. She would never be free. The stains of yesterdays blended together in a fog, chasing in long shadows; fear and regret hot on her tail.

Time passed and the emptiness filled with phantom aches Kate could no longer satiate with prayer. Her existence no longer revolved around what she had lost, but rather: what had remained. She had the scars: reasons to lie to strangers about how such a delicate girl could acquire them. She had the nightmares: an excuse to stay up late and greet the sun; and no one to tell her it wasn't okay, or passed her bedtime. Most of the wounds had healed though the evidence of some would never vanish. A nervous habit riddled in self-hatred kept her tearing at the gashes, picking out the homemade stitches and clawing at raised scabs until they sank into the raised pitted, defacement of new scars.

Kate tried crawling out of her skin, bleeding beneath her clothes, hoping to somehow vacate her being. No one would see, or notice, and if they did: no one would say anything. She knew this because she knew no one cared. No one cared about the lies her father told about her mother. No one cared about the bullies who tormented her brother. No one cared about her family being taken hostage and disappearing entirely. And no one cared when she was the last of them left standing: battered, bloody and exposed. The feeling of filth and never being able to scrub the blood, guts and gore from her own flesh made her panic, sick and ashamed; like everyone could see the gore but she no longer lived in a world where anyone cared enough to wipe the blood from a little girl's brow. That was her world now: filth and survivor's guilt.

Despite it all, Kate didn't pity herself; though it took a great deal of time not to. Eventually, she came to realize it was fate. It was the hand she was dealt, for worse or worst. Blaming God, her father or the Goddamn Gecko brothers wouldn't change anything; even if that's all she wanted. She herself yearned to be different. She didn't see herself as sweet, homegrown "Katie-Cakes" anymore. She didn't have a Preacher to be a daughter too. She wasn't a playful sister, Mama's girl or the chaste girlfriend of a church-boy another life would have permitted her to marry. She'd never have been enough for her mother to live for. She'd never be strong enough to fix her family. She didn't have one anymore and the guilt of finding relief in that was her own dirty, little secret that ate at her from the inside out.

Kate was different, indeed; and in a sense, wanted to be known as such. She wasn't much older but she was wiser. She didn't know what tomorrow brought but understood the twists of fate that allowed her to breathe, after it had extinguished so many others, were all that kept her alive anymore anyway. Her ever-loving heart had become distorted, blackened and rotted from within her chest. There was no love left in her. She felt owed a punishment for a crime she couldn't put her finger on but knew she had committed all the same. Still, she counted the marks on her body. They were real. She endured the nightmares, because they too were real. The cheap motels, the pools that reeked of too much chlorine and burned her eyes under the hot Mexican sun, the desert sand caught in her hair: it was all real. The Massacre at the Titty Twister: that was all too real. There was no solace, no sound sleep or painless moment for Kate.

There was only Seth.


	2. Seth

Kate didn't know if she followed Seth or if he pulled her by a leash only he could see. She obeyed his orders, heeded his warnings, and never tried to leave. Truth be told, Kate didn't know if she was a hostage any more than if she was a welcomed guest. They left the Twister together, the sole survivors of the culebra massacre, out of vulnerability and impulse; though, Seth's own guilt likely played a larger role than either of them were willing to admit.

It didn't take long to realize that romanticizing the Gecko brothers wasn't realistic or even possible. Kate couldn't rewrite history because it was easier to swallow than the pill she was faced with every morning, in the moments before Seth woke and she retired to her daytime slumber. She'd watch the rise and fall of his bare chest and count his breaths as he slept. Some part of her hoped they'd stop; that the alcohol and self-medicating would finally do him in. On the nights he passed out in his jeans or suit, she'd see his revolver peeking out over the top of his belt. She'd visualized taking it and shooting him in the head, splattering his brains and trademark smirk across the walls but knew she didn't really have it in her to pull the trigger and trying would only lead to more trouble than it was worth. She knew this because she'd come close once.

A few weeks after their escape from the Titty Twister, Seth and Kate took shelter at a flophouse, where everything from the sheets to the carpet were soiled, stained and crusted over. Kate knew more than she let on but Seth wasn't willing to answer any uncomfortable questions. He covered filth with used pillow cases and clothes left behind by guests who'd stayed there either to die or fuck, or both. Seth stormed down to the front desk without warning, leaving Kate behind to listen to the chill-inducing boom of his fast-talking, voice, echoing in Spanglish. He returned with an armful of clean linens and towels and tossed them in irritation at Kate. She took his gesture as a sign of her newly-enforced and antiquated "womanly duties" to make the hole-in-the-wall look half-way decent.

The pair lived in solitude and silence. Seth gave her free roam of the motel room, the bathroom and any space in between but forbid she walk out the door or go near the windows. Seth had been on edge, as if waiting for someone, or _something_ to kick in the door and tear them apart. He popped mystery pills to stay awake, and when they didn't work, his nose would bleed from snorting white powder off the coffee table he positioned across the room and in front of the chair he sat guard in. His hands would shake around his revolver pointed at the door, knees springing in place and nose sniffing smoky air on instinct. He stayed in the same place for days without eating or showering. When Kate moved or shuffled, he'd lift his gun at her, mutter obscenities uncharacteristic of his nature and accuse her of the many ways it was all her fault.

Not long after, Kate began fixing Seth drinks – strong ones. It made him dizzy, unfocused and twitchy but eventually, he'd fall asleep in his chair, soaked through his partially unbuttoned, white-collared shirt, with his own sweat and droplets of blood. No one came in the door or even knocked but Seth's paranoia had changed him.

Looking down at the table, bloody and drug-covered, Kate panicked. Slowly, and with no plan in mind, she reached for his revolver. Seth stirred, locking eyes with her. Kate quickly moved her hands to his shirt, pulling it off him one arm at a time. Neither of them spoke a word. The motel room's AC caused him to shiver and she grabbed a towel from the floor, covering his sweaty torso and drying him off.  
>"Sorry, Lolita, but I'm no Richie." he croaked before pushing her to the ground. In an instant he sprung to his feet, tucking his gun down the front of his pants and stumbling to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.<p>

Mortified and humiliated by his insinuation, Kate stood outside the bathroom door. She heard the shower begin run but waited to hear the changing patterns of water hit the shower floor before she was confident he had immersed himself in the cleansing downpour. Steam billowed under the door and collected at her feet as she quietly crept into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her so the cold air from the room wouldn't let Seth know someone had entered behind him. His bloody, sweat-soaked clothes gathered in a wet heap on the floor. She stepped over them carefully, seeing the revolver on the counter. The chrome fogged in the steam like the mirror and she worried it would slip from her grip if she wasn't careful.

Kate extended her hand out to grab the gun but Seth emerged from the steam of the shower, fuming, wet and naked. He gripped her wrist, twisting her fingers an inch from the gun. He pulled her arm behind her back and pinned her against the wall. She could feel the wetness of his body soak through her own clothes as he pressed against her with savage force.  
>"You seem to have me at a bit of a disadvantage here, Princess." His breath was hot on her neck; stubble scraping against her silky cheek, flushing from the steam and closeness. "On the one hand, you made a pass at my piece. I can only assume, like any man would assume, that you're intention was to gun me down in this here shower, am I correct?" Kate squirmed under his grasp but didn't answer. He tightened his grip on her arm, pushing it higher behind her back. He smirked as she yelped in pain. "On the other hand, you seem to have quite an appetite for Geckos and hell, it's been a while…"<p>

Seth shoved Kate from the wall to the sink. He slid her legs apart with help from the wet floor and she fell further forward, arched over the faucet. Seth slid his way between her legs, pinning both arms behind her back with one hand and lifting the back of her shirt with his revolver with the other. Kate struggled under his grasp, but even wet, she could not slip out of Seth's bruising claim. She cried stammering incoherent sentences until Seth pulled her face to his. "A little overdressed, don't you think?" His lower-half forcing Kate to jut her hips forward into the hard corners over the sink, evoking another cry of pain.

Seth let her arms go but before she could turn around and run, he pinned her once more against the wall, pushing himself against her in a slow grind Kate wasn't sure was real. "Listen to me, Sister Christian, and listen good. If at any time, I want this, I'll talk it." He spoke in a wicked voice that echoed Richie's tones and thrust against her suggestively. "I won't ask, I won't beg, I won't bargain. Can you feel how easy this is for me?" He whispered, resting his sweaty forehead on hers, forcing her to feel every firm inch of him. "I'll be the only confession worth sharing..."

Seth finally let her go, throwing her to the floor outside the bathroom. The bathroom door was wide-open, steam surrounding him like a demon melting through ice. Kate glared through tears at him: all of him. To the wild look in his eyes that told her he was serious to his tan, naked body, glistening with sweat and water; all the way down to what he'd threatened her with and just how visibly easy it would be for him to destroy her. He slammed the door once more, locking it behind him this time.

Though months had passed and it had never been addressed, it wasn't up for debate who was in charge. Kate, grew unsure of how serious his threats were though never tested him again and never thought twice about going near his weapons: any of them.

There was no riding off into the sunset with a man like Seth Gecko. Tattooed from wrist to neck, he was dominant, brooding and just as calculating and dangerous as his brother. From start to finish, he'd been a whirling, two-sided coin that never seemed to land on any reliable side. Hotheaded, menacing, merciless: finding safety in Seth's passenger seat was as well thought out a plan as chaining herself naked to Richie after taking a bath in Jolt.

Survival had become a relative term. And although the months went on with little to no brutality, Kate and Seth learned to coexist with relative civility. He generally kept his hands to himself, as she kept her thoughts to herself. It became easier to watch life cool as time passed. Kate had less fear of Seth blowing her brains out on one of their long drives out of town and ditching her body in the desert; and he seemed more comfortable with the fact that she wasn't going to turn him in for anything that had happened or kill him in his sleep. Still, she kept her eyes peeled at night as he did during the day. This was as close to normalcy as life would get for either of them.


	3. Richie Approved

The bloodshed had ceased, there were no explosive exists stitched together for the sake of blazing glory or headlines. Seth's cavalier, death-wish antics came and went, usually when he was drunk, but never surpassed that of Richie's. Kate often wondered if this bothered him. That Seth, despite his efforts, would never be as flagrantly insane with his life or anyone else's, as his brother was. Seth knew too well the struggle of being a survivor. Going quietly was not in his arsenal and he'd fight tooth and nail to survive but he'd never part with his dignity and seeking unnecessary trouble threatened both. Richie was as reckless as he was shameless, and the payoff was usually greater. The infamy was a concrete testimony that made Seth look like a sidekick. The reward for his capture was even larger than Seth's but instead of upping the ante, Seth was designed to play it cool.

Seth was a former realist who could once use his word as currency but had quickly deteriorated into a human gamble. He was worth his weight in gold but only on the off chance of success and he didn't chase the score like he once did. There was no thrill in solo acts. This change of pace made him aggressive and sinister. Seth grew stir-crazy and increasingly paranoid. The inactivity had him chasing ghosts in his mind. Reduced to the husk of his former self, Seth could no longer call it like he saw it. Honesty was masked with irony, pain or amusement and communication was as enjoyable and effortless as pulling teeth.

The Seth that Kate had come to know during their mutual and voluntary imprisonment, was a daily reminder of her family's slaughter and how Kate had been reduced to nothing more than a souvenir to remind a defeated man of his last adventure with his gone brother. Seth's powers of persuasion were ruthless and self-interested, reeling with cryptic ulterior motives and riddles. He went so far as to foster a subtle seduction, promising Kate she wouldn't ever be alone with him. Kate soon found herself alone more than ever. Lost to the purgatory of watching the oldest Gecko's lies pile up around her – a testament to her childlike gullibility and the silver-tongued charms that stimulated her longing to be treated like the adult she felt inside. Seth's hustle had been on point and before long, it was no surprise he had been capable of walking her family to their death. He could bluff his way out of Hell.

Seth's snarky, cool, fast-talking, rebelliousness once piqued a certain interest in Kate but she'd never admit it, just as Seth would never admit it was all for show or that he resented being the trimmings of his brother's mad-genius and explicit, sadistic urges. The media moaned with satisfaction, salivating over the gruesome and sensational depravities that stained the desert red and littered the roads with the mutilated, raped and slaughtered victims of the Gecko brother's topsy-turvy, blood-spattered crime spree.

Seth was one half of the notorious brother team of precision heist-men. Their names would forever be associated with their crimes but getting away with them all would make them legends. Seth once pined for the acclaim. Aroused by the romantic playback of his part in the jail breaking, death dealing, bank robbing duo who vanished into the pages of history. The greatest score of all being the infinite revolving door of jailbait Lolitas, who would drive themselves wet, constructing fantasies on the falsity of how misunderstood the Gecko brothers must have been. After all, the pretty ones are always misunderstood. Seth knew the scenario all too well. The crafted wiles he'd perfected over a lifetime of being the artful dodger had shed light on the ease in which wide-eyed, bubble gum popping, curfew-breakers in plunging sundresses would become his concubines. The prowl had lost its appeal with its simplicity. Kate, on the other hand, was a challenge.

Seth poured tequila down his throat, hissing as he exhaled a fiery lungful of alcohol-sting. Staring at the all too familiar walls, he listened to the music that escaped Kate's headphones. She spent her days finding new ways to avoid him and he knew she was running low on creativity. He'd struggled to find normalcy with the teenager. There was no safe approach, as he was no longer a safe man. Though he was no violator like Richie, he knew that instilling fear in her was the only way to truly keep her safe. At least, that's how he rectified his the guilt; disgraced in the overcast of his drug-addled, booze-fueled, belligerence. He'd regretted taking Kate deeper into the abyss of the Mexican underworld but couldn't decide if a lifetime of wondering about her fate would have been easier. It was a coin toss, a waiting game and at its core, an excuse not to be alone.

Seth had been unable to process the events of the Titty Twister. He'd wake in a pool of cold sweat, tangled in bed sheets he dreamt were the restraints of bloodthirsty Hell beasts. His panic would escape his body in labored gasps, irregular breaths and muffled groans that bolted sheer terror to the back of his throat. He drank to sleep and dull the memories but the depressant paralyzed him in thick slumbers. The Sandman's mischief was a torturous, cruel joke. The nighttime savored its refusal to relinquish Seth from sleep. The subjugation that barred him from his waking life, already a walking nightmare, did little to inspire his sobriety. It was after these episodic horrors that he'd deprive himself of sleep entirely. He relied on drugs and medications to stimulate his consciousness for a handful of uneasy days but the brawls against exhaustion were ugly – always leading to a violent, thrashing defeat that forced Kate to barricade herself in the bathroom and hide from his derangement.

Seth could feel himself losing grip on reality, as he spiraled deeper into the embrace of the white powder that made his nose bleed and gums go numb. He missed his brother and the safety Richie somehow always seemed to supply. Kate was a distressed damsel who's happily-ever-after had been thwarted by the brothers. Her fear of Seth's erratic behavior prevented her from extending a compassionate hand like she had been able to at the start of their secret, little life together. Seth did not trust her any more than he suspected she trusted him. Her composure stood too calm against the calamity, despite her losses being greater and experiences more traumatic.

Kate was a resilient, young creature whose innocence had been shattered by the harsh realities they had faced side by side. Even still, it was Seth that could not cope. He was no longer the confident, smooth-operator he'd made a living pretending to be. He was a head case that clawed at his skin till it bled when he got lost in the narrow labyrinth of his mind's malicious carnival. The recurring thoughts and images plastered behind his eyelids deemed peace a luxury the fugitive could not afford. He survived the palpitations of anxiety and panic attacks only to decline into a depressed state that worsened his addictions and twisted in his gut until he vomited what little food he'd remembered to eat.

Seth grew increasingly more envious of the stillness Kate had achieved so soon after the ordeal. He was an experienced fiend, capable of unspeakable brutalities, yet she was the one who seemed unfazed by panic or worry. In his heart he knew that Kate had done nothing wrong and that he was responsible for any hardships in her current life. He knew her faith guided her through the sorrow and fear; and if anyone deserved a moment of tranquility, it was Kate. Still, he wondered how long she would remain the beacon of hope and virtue she was now. Her fledgling naivety was something for the books, going so far as to grant Seth unconditional forgiveness after her family was slaughtered and even forming what resembled a "Stockholm attraction" to Richie.

Seth's mind grew foggier with each spiteful swig. He eyed Kate from his chair sternly. She lay on her stomach, her knees bent, allowing her feet to cradle one another in the air. Her body sank into the cheap mattress and it squeaked as she absentmindedly swung her ankles back and forth above her back. Seth couldn't make out the music she was tuned into but became irritated at her bold attempt to obstruct his interactions.

It wasn't often that he became self-righteous about taking her further into the pit of his volatile existence, but when more liquor ran through his veins than blood and his fidgeting intensified under the command of street-cut narcotics, he could convince himself of just about anything. He particularly favored the lie that Kate was indebted to him. He was her primary guardian, despite treating her more as a stray taken in out of reluctance. Seth could not grasp her coldness and lack of appreciation for everything he had done for her, the risks he had taken to ensure she'd have someone to look after her, guide and befriend her. She was not his responsibility, yet he maintained momentum in an uphill battle that was The Complexity of the Teenage Girl. Sharing a living space designed for one was hard enough without the lack of respect and gratitude.

Seth's face grew red and his chest filled with a giddiness that nearly made him burst with laughter. He knew he was being irrational and so remained silent; growing ever impassioned with every minute his body metabolized the poisons. He felt his restlessness enhance, as his eyes canvassed the creamy, porcelain glow of Kate's legs that swung smooth and careless in a rhythm she perfected. Her tranquil concentration was overwhelming and the room was too quiet to only play the hum of her music.

Seth considered the threats he had made in the past. They were hazy, scattered in pieces across his memory. He knew he had been wrong, that his threats were empty and that he was not his brother. Still, an unapologetic irrationality began to wonder if he could ever be like Richie. Seth admired him as much as he had admired Seth but both brothers flourished in areas the other did not. This made them the compatible crooks they had always been. They could read each other through their own strengths and weaknesses. Seth toyed with the deviant, savagery nestled in a dirty mind, and licensed by the likelihood that Richie had already plowed the same imaginary fields.

Seth felt his body flush as he watched Kate. She twirled a lock of hair around her delicate fingers and rested the capped Sharpie on her bottom lip, gripping it with her teeth when she needed a free hand to turn the pages. The alcohol had Seth good and loaded and the mixture of uppers and downers fried his sensibilities and urged him to indulge in the exploration of every wicked depth of the mind, decent men close off. Seth knew this because he had once been a decent man. He had been grounded and stable. He was going to get rich and fat and die in the arms of a beautiful woman.

The separation from Richie devastated Seth, as the abandonment was a betrayal that blindsided him with loss and regret. Seth had always been programmed to complete the objective and make the score but he had to work tirelessly to ensure he had each job by the balls. Richie on the other hand, was a prodigy and memorization, and tactical reasoning and application, came like breathing to him. He had always been able to see more, farther, with better clarity and on a Meta scale. The responsibility that came with Richie's mind was one Seth could never be prepared to behold. Though he never doubted his own intelligence, his gifts were more social proficiencies and cunning. It allowed him to perpetuate his con through life but he'd often wondered what it would be like to live in Richie's shoes. To appreciate the bizarre and allow square honesty to risk favorable outcomes for jail time and satiate lusts driven by discernable madness under the revelation that they nourished his brilliance.

Kate tongued the pen from side to side in her mouth, still on her stomach, she propped herself up on her elbows to hold the magazine in front of her face. She flipped through her iPod and settled on a song that Seth could slowly begin to recognize. It was a classic. The old song throttled his grasp on reality and he felt out of place, as if her were being watched on screen. His ears filled with a melody that was classic during his own youth. There seemed a very real possibility that Kate somehow knew this triviality and was playing tricks on him. Perhaps her interest in Richie stemmed from her own sociopathy. Seth had dealt with crazy women before but Kate was such a peculiar being. She disarmed him with her timid, gentle nature and tenderness but perplexed him with a defiance that he could not control. She would not ever regard Seth as more than he was and this made his posture stiffen. Seth decided that if Kate stooped to playing mind games with him, he was going to mind her games as foreplay.

Seth's ego was wounded by the paranoia-induced mistrust in Kate. He began to suppose she hadn't left him yet because perhaps there was a part of her that craved the tacit threat of ravishment. Richie was never one to catch the eye of girls like Kate but maybe that's because Kate wasn't a girl like Kate. Seth mulled over the theory, chewing his bottom lip while he sifted through misremembered conversations and imagined body language. His conscience shouted, pleading with the drugged up rationale to forfeit to the alcohol's dehydration and pass out.

Seth listened to the old song as it neared its climax, an eerie sense of dissociation crept down his spine and he could no longer endure the confines of his chair. He suddenly craved the prowl. He felt closer to Richie, as if he was looking through his eyes and seeing what Richie saw the moment he met Kate. Seth dragged his index finger down the bridge of his nose, imagining the weight of his brother's horn-rimmed glasses. He knew they looked different; barely passing for brothers, but Seth was a talented performer. The confidence man could saunter his way down death row and out the back door without anyone raising a brow. For a show like Richie would have given Kate, Seth could embody every characteristic and quirk Richie ever had. He could imitate his voice, slowing down his own tempo and deepening in tone. He could dress up his vocabulary and make each syllable drip hot and familiar in a purr down Kate's throat. Seth could emulate each of Richie's unique attributes and behaviors down to a blink. The expert precision begged to come out and play.


	4. Hush Hush

Kate arched her back and stretched vigorously, exposing her navel and sharp hip bones to the draft of the room. Seth hadn't yet pulled himself from his chair; his eyes blurred and body tingled. He could feel the rush of compulsivity begin a warm spread throw his body. The cocaine made him sweat and jerk, but Kate hadn't seemed to notice. She wound the cord of her headphones around the iPod and rubbed the laziness out of her eyes. Looking over at the empty bed beside hers, she was surprised by her own obliviousness, having assumed Seth would have been reduced to an inebriated coma by then. Her eyes glided across the room to the chair where he felt safest and found him sitting there, his eyes fixated on her.

Seth did not look her in the eyes but rather at her unclear form that lounged loosely on the bed—a taunt to his double-vision. His sweat-slick face glowed a scarlet blush beneath his tan. His hairline was crowned with moisture, rolling in beads down his face and plummeting off his chiseled jawline. Seth swiped at his nose and shifted shoulders against the back of his chair, as if preparing to move. The exertion of his 'party of one' seemed to disenfranchise his movements, reducing his physicality to comedic miscalculations of depth perception. Seth remained still, opting to stabilize before making a fool of himself and attempting to walk.

"Your lip." Kate said meekly, bringing the Sharpie to her bottom lip and tapping it gently. "It's bleeding." Seth had gnawed through his lip absentmindedly. He knew had he not been booze-numb and high that he would have felt it but wondered why the taste hadn't revealed the mess sooner.

Kate watched Seth as he stopped challenging the bleeding gash with his tongue and let the blood gather naturally in a dark, and warm stream he half-swallowed, and half-let drip to his lap. Kate's efforts not to stare were futile. She had seen the damage Seth could do to himself while wrecked. He remained silent. If they lived a normal life, a puncture like the one he'd bitten into himself- merely by watching Kate read her magazine and twirl her hair around her fingers, and his thoughts around the Devil's- would have likely merited a fieldtrip to the E.R. and a few stitches. Seth and Kate did not live a normal life though.

Kate came second to having Seth's mania gratified. The revolving door of dispositions kept her from planning a life outside their room. She didn't know how long she'd be alive. She didn't know if leaving would be safer but she doubted it. Seth may have been violent and erratic but he didn't want to drink her blood and his street smarts made him a good provider.

Seth had never lived up to any of his threats to _take_ her or brutalize her in a way she couldn't somehow pretend was 'okay.' She could justify his behavior, the impulsivity, intimidations and abuses with the memory of who he was so many months prior. Kate could never truly give up on Seth. She would place hope in him because hope was all she could give and Seth was the only one she had at all. Losing hope that he'd stabilize would mean being alone and losing everything to the Twister. All the agony would have been in vain.

The glimpses she had of Seth in a favorable light were scarce. A handful of seconds scattered across a day distracted by mayhem. Their interactions had been nothing compared to her imagination's dolled up memories. Kate needed the exaggerations though. She needed the comfort they offered, the faith they inspired. She couldn't believe that the beast that endangered her with his reckless addictions was the same smooth-operator who had to ensure Richie hadn't **_done _**anything to her at the Dew Drop Inn. She wouldn't believe that the same body, who pinned hers to the bathroom wall and with intimate threats of his dripping, nude physique, was the same gentleman who'd defended her honor when the bar's doorman implied Kate was a "Cherry Pie" ready for tasting. Seth responded in suit by breaking the loud-mouth's nose. She never thanked him for that or for raising his gun, alongside her father, at Sex Machine upon hearing he'd come onto her.

Despite being a bigger danger to Kate, Richie and she had bonded over the duration of that day. He had been patient and kind to her. They had shared gentler moments—even slightly romantic ones. Kate knew that Richie had no conscious desire to hurt her but likely lacked restraint over his own psychopathy. She could never have driven off in a Ferrari with Richie like she had Seth. Seth may have exhibited desires to hurt her at times, but she trusted in his restraint and sanity. That is where the brothers differed. Even still, much had changed since that night and watching Seth's mouth glisten under the wet crimson, Kate couldn't help but compare the two brothers and the dusk that never truly became dawn.

Cocaine numbed Seth's body while his mind tortured it. His paranoia grew more severe—obsessive and irrational. His claustrophobia maximized under the microscope of compulsive self-medicating and neurotic tics. The blood that trickled down his lip brought the Titty Twister's night of horrors to the forefront of his mind. Blood was Richie's thing—and they were both thinking it. Kate wondered how many people Richie must have killed by then. She reckoned the number must be high given the violent, indulgent tendencies of his nature. Seth lingered on the image of interrupting his brother from Frenching his way to another sex crime where the Preacher's Daughter was shown a bad time. He wondered how she would react to his touch now, bloody-mouthed and ravenous; a peck on the neck, now a risk to her pulse.

Kate had only found cause to blush when she recounted the moment she shared with Richie. Her desperation and fear culminated to an untrustworthy attraction to the welcoming embrace of Richie's devilish and persuasive complexities. She thanked God her father and brother never found out. Seth was a piece of work who would have had a blast prodding and teasing the teenager but in that case, he had more on the line than her reputation ever could. Not to mention the slight of rejection for not being in that position—not because of a vested interest in Kate but because of the sneakiness it involved from the guilty parties. It was a job he didn't know about, a score he couldn't risk and a payoff he'd never take. A fear he'd had for Kate had taken form before his eyes but he didn't know who to feel more jilted by: his brother, the basket case, admitted deviant, dead-man or Kate: the crucifix clasping, seductress who threw Richie off his game and contributed to his downfall. Truthfully, he thought he knew Richie better than the 5 years of rumors that echoed through the prison gates—even if Richie had never concealed his proclivities. Seth had to see it to believe it. Kate on the other hand, had concealed her nature and for this, Seth craved revenge.

The memory rallied anger manifesting inside Seth. He wanted to question Kate. He wanted to drudge up the old and fight a new. He wanted another rampage and to slap her around until she took off her mask and confirmed his suspicions. Seth had exhausted the material, however and he knew jumping right into the matter would merely result in her retreat to the bathroom, where she'd fall asleep in the tub and wait for him to be gone before reemerging.

The taste of blood running down the back of Seth's throat made him wonder if she thought about that broken moment between her and Richie often and in what spirit. Slowly, he continued to paint over the picture of Kate, he kept in his mind; forever mocking him with her untouchable, delicate class and faithful resolve. Splashes of self-awareness and dark shades of thirst and hot-blooded allure made him salivate. The long strokes of devious tricks only a 'hush-hush' savvy _woman_ would indulge... He wanted so desperately to believe that she was as filthy, sinful and flesh-starved as he. He didn't want to be the bad guy by himself. He didn't want to be "the Richie." If he couldn't find someone corrupt, he was going to corrupt someone himself.

The quiet and sudden stillness forced the two unlikely allies to acknowledge the presence of the other as strange and forced. Seth sat quietly, contemplating the spiral of depravity his train of thought had wandered. He reflected on the nature of the dark imaginings and just how serious he would have been in playing on Richie's turf, had he not snapped out of his stupor when Kate pointed out his bleeding lip. The mind is a tricky fiend to toil with under such _conditions_. However, Seth wasn't near sober enough to consider grim daydreams a lapse in judgment. Though, the inkling of nerve lingered with the unabashed clarity of Richie. He watched as the inkling grew to curiosity and curiosity evolved to gripping desire, followed by the tease of impossibility. He felt more cowardly for his inability to throttle the girl than at using force to quell the thickening rage of his entitlement.

Villainous fervency in the core of Seth's vibrating chest, where his heart was a supererogatory cadence that sent tremors through his body, kept his mind in the gutter of all gutters. Urges intensified, toppling over one another in an uncontrollable chase. Seth could feel the persistence in the heat that reddened his face. The warmth imitating a mounting tension that began to swell between his thighs. Badgering, vivid images played on a loop in his mind. A blueprinted fantasy detailing every hungry, animalistic, throbbing of pulses from the moment he'd lay a finger on her, to the sweaty climax he'd force.

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><p><strong>Just a heads up:<strong> From this chapter on, things are going to take a spin for the dark, sadistic and disturbed. My chapters are overtly descriptive for a reason. The graphic scenes are filing their teeth around the corner and are not going to sit well in anyone's stomachs. As the chapters build, I hope you can find a safe place to hop off. The descriptiveness of each chapter should help indicate where your breaking point is, should you have one. Reviews are very much appreciated and help me maintain the fic but no pressure. Thanks for tuning in! Next chapter should be up **within the hour**.


	5. Decency

Seth seemed to perspire more with the passing of each silent moment, shifting into awkward positions Kate didn't understand. She didn't waste time waiting for him to respond. Her statement was essentially rhetorical and he seemed to be docile enough that there was no use in accidentally instigating a tantrum by filling the air with small-talk. If Seth wanted to bleed and fill his belly with his own blood, that was his choice.

The crimson stained Seth's lips which had bloomed to a pout under the bite. She sucked on her own bottom lip—idly mimicking Seth's sweeping tongue. It's pink, wetness periodically trundled his bloody lip between white teeth, pulling the blood from its surface. He looked younger, somehow. He looked like the part of him Kate imagined was trapped inside, wasting away. The Seth she fought to believe was real, who wasn't gone but merely suffering under his drug binges and black outs. He looked reachable.

Kate pitied Seth. True to her nature, she was attracted to the pity. He'd spent so much time tormenting her that she forgot what it was like to have her upper-hand understood without negotiating, or arguing, or dodging backhanded slaps across her face. Kate wasn't like Seth though. She wouldn't use her advantage against him; not unless she had to. Appraising his waning condition she surmised the evening would go smoothly. Soon he would collapse under the weight of self-destruction and she would enjoy the company of another moonlit night in Mexico. Her relief however short-lived, was interrupted with an abrupt, mortifying halt.

Kate blushed cherry-red behind a forced smile that escalated into a heavy exhale. The involuntary titter disguised itself as an urgent sigh. Kate had been arrested by the come-hither motions of Seth's mouth. Dreamily transfixed on the cadent repetition of bleeding, tonguing and teeth grazing, Kate had veered from a modest train of thought to the covetous. Seth's performance stirred a carnal, desirous ache Sunday school hadn't prepared her for. Her heart fluttered against the bashful backdrop of her chaste reality. Her pulse raced in competition with the traveling surge of _want_. It struck with a feverish heat in the pit of her stomach, writhing lower and lower, until nothing but the fabric of Seth's boxers remained to safeguard her decency.

Kate could feel Seth's eyes on her. Feeling exposed and unspeakably vulnerable, she leapt from her blanket-cradled position and sauntered to the wall nearest the foot of her bed; clicking the air conditioner down from a loud sputtering to a sensible hum. She had seen Seth grow ill from sweating in the cold air before and he was arguably more miserable then, than when he was drunk or high, or both.

Seth watched Kate's slow, coordinated movements; a welcomed competitor to the vision of her casually licking her ruby lips and locking them between perfect teeth. Her hips swayed in the black, designer boxers, rolled at the waist and hiked high. They fell just below the curve of her bottom which made for a nice view from where Seth sat: Kate's back to him, bending over in front of the AC unit, cooling before the brisk air.

Seth never harbored _true_ ill-will toward Kate— on the surface, at least. He even found it somewhat endearing that she still slept in his clothes after all he'd put her through. He wasn't sure when that started but he knew how few defined boundaries between them _actually_ existed. A smile remnant of the Seth Kate tried to cling to, crept across his face; locking an amused grin at rest. He rested one leg over the other's knee, gripping his ankle to prevent jittery movements that might foster further stimulation. His utter lack of control over his pleading masculinity made him furious. Even the mere thought of his anger frolicked too closely to the lust-fueled musings he desperately labored to shuck from mind. He felt weak, like a schoolboy who had yet to tame his body.

Seth tossed his free arm into his lap, concealing the form of his stiffening mast. He watched Kate teeter in front of the cool air. She needed a cold shower but the contained breeze would suffice. At the very least, Kate was grateful it helped hasten her flushed face to regain its fair-toned luminosity. Kate jutted her shoulders to-and-fro under a devastating shiver Seth was all too familiar with. The shudder was indicative of the warmth of a woman's breasts suddenly braced with coldness. Kate's nipples perked against the draft and a tingling sensation excited in her bosom, spreading up her spine and tickling her neck and earlobes. Seth didn't need to see the transformation to know what the tremor meant. Her body responded to the frigidness of the room, as much as Seth's had merely by having witnessed Kate coaxed to a reaction. His aching grew and he shifted in his place, stifling an uneasy whimper. It fought against a deep, shaky breath in his throat but was quickly lost to an oncoming primal pant.

Kate and Seth tended to live as one creature. Any supposed attraction before Seth's awakening to the Preacher's Daughter was cause for speculation. Living in such close proximity to one another, Seth and Kate relied on Mother Nature to take her course in expelling any mystery or allure that could ever arise between two people living in seclusion. They cherished the uncompromised promise of platonic kinship that their shelter sanctioned. Impervious to curiosity, hormone-induced frenzies, even pent-up aggression, desire relinquished from the scope of their small, shared world. The refuge lasted until the will of Nature was no longer swayed by the delicate, human sensibilities She envied. Almost instantly, raw, untethered instinct exposed their limitations and egregious need for distance.

The pair's joint anxieties of surpassing a _familial_ understanding of one another and inadvertently entering verboten territory was jarring and isolating. This time, however, it isolated one another. Seth and Kate independently came to the conclusion that they must be contented to last an indefinite forbiddance of shared carnal-gratification, despite every cell in their bodies soliciting touch in crescendo. Their similar thought processes had deemed the plot practical. The impractical element lying in the unspoken scheme itself. The varying details existed nowhere beyond Kate and Seth's separate hopes that denial would prevail over basic instincts.

The tongue-tied team swept the arresting notions of intimate, albeit hypothetical, physicality between one another under the rug. Unspoken suspicions and suppressed affections were systematically refused. The preservation of Kate and Seth's "uncomplicated _reality_" writhed beneath the threat of **extinction** locking **decency** in its crosshairs. Suddenly the matter of discrete rousing lacked front-page significance. Seth was an all-around sexual being and his shame in being discovered as such ran with dogs. Indecency was important to him, in the same way it was important he cover Kate's eyes when they passed road kill. His decency was in protecting her decency and the surefire way to do that was to keep a safe distance.

Kate was relatively oblivious to Seth's watchful eye. She had trouble following his thoughtful gestures since he'd grown beastly and violent. Keeping her own distance from him was for her own safety, not some moral obligation to purge corruption from the teen. Even still, Kate hid behind the Scripture. Her inarguably prevailing purity was not discussed, as it fell under the heavily guarded concept of _decency_. Though the unspoken truth affixed in complications and inhibitions was a siren that rang louder than all of Seth's tirades, tantrums, thunderous rage-storms combined. It was her halo and Seth could not thieve. Seth would look at her young face, clear of imperfections and wrinkles, and staring back at him would be a neon sign that boasted her invincibility. Seth could use violence, his temper and fear to torment Kate, and he implemented them often, but there was a line he would not cross. Even as a outlaw, he could not _claim_ the innocence of her flesh.

In truth, Kate's cherry was their most reliable defense against wanton persuasions they could procure. Their separate urges to surrender rivaled one another's stubborn refusal to speak on the matter. Had it not been for the certainty of her chastity, the off-the-record -and unbeknownst to each other- infatuations would have been satiated under the coercive ruin that birth impulsive violations. Every carnal corruption: a loveless touch, devouring goodness for fleeting bliss.

Even still, Seth had no uncontrollable desire to bear the responsibility of deflowering anyone—least of all, a _teenage_ girl. Emotions were messy and he wouldn't know what to do with her in a capacity that deemed her first time be with a guy like him. Seth still toiled with the feeling of Richie's eyes on his back, heavily breathing down his neck. Fiercely encouraging Seth to throttle Kate, and ravage her for all she was worth. For her sake, he was relieved she'd sealed herself off to him. It was only a matter of dying seconds before Seth did _something_.

Kate's distrust in Seth encouraged her to keep a safe distance. Everything was an inside joke with himself and everything was a job, a score, a gamble. Kate refused to be added to his collection of pilfered goods, forever haunted by the taunting smirk of Seth Gecko.

Despite their flaws, the duo operated in relative synchronicity. Alternating between night owl and early bird, they were always on watch against whatever dangers circled overhead. After all, that was the closest to _mutual comfort_ they could come.

Seth hadn't forgotten the good times they had shared. He remembered with unfair lucidity the events that threw them together. The motel hopping that ensued, until they were as far from the fang run bar as he could get them. It wasn't until they retired to their last stop that they even began sleeping in separate beds. At first it was out of convenience: cheap, cash only, efficiency rooms with one bed made any alternate arrangement impractical. Though, Seth did spend a handful of nights on the floor, giving Kate the bed and a place to quietly cry herself to sleep.

Seth would wind up pulling himself from the floor to Kate's side at a moment's notice, calming her from violent, blood-curdling nightmares. Seth was often the recipient of attacks, scratches, bites, slaps and weak-fisted punches in the midst of her terrors. Those nights never went quietly or quickly but had somehow managed to pass before any real sleep was had. Kate's fits were regular as clockwork, worsening under the stress of sleepless nights accumulation. Seth began to weaken, as well. It was Kate who soon insisted they endure the closeness of night and just share the motel bed. Seth had been defeated by exhaustion and couldn't have battled another sleepless night but was happy to oblige her request, knowing he could likely do more good beside her when the terrors came. For a while he felt the need to justify the sleeping arrangement. There was a wayward, kink to it that he had trouble digesting early on. But the sense of security they offered one another in the darkness, made the peculiarity of sleeping next to a high schooler a small price to pay.

Seth was not exempt from the night however; and he distorted against the horrendous visions to Hell, agonizing over the all-too-real sensation of loss it left him with. Drenching the sheets in sweat and jolting upright in a panic, his responses were less animated than Kate's but she always knew when he'd fallen victim to them. She would remain silent as Seth stumbled through the few safe places he had in his mind, looking for any serene memory to bring him comfort. Kate would rally to her feet and navigate the darkness with the effortlessness of a stray cat. She'd scrounge through his drawers or piles of laundry, grab him a fresh shirt to change into and towel to throw over the sweaty sheets till morning broke. When Seth finally closed his eyes, she'd whisper prayers over him she thought he never heard—but he always did—and always loved.

They did not spoon or cuddle or wake in dramatic, tender embraces that jetted a fiery passion between them. Seth kept to his side—always closest to the door—gun at the ready. Kate slept safely in her own space between Seth's strapping physique and a wall, a bathroom or closet. They didn't fight over blankets, warm cold hands under the front of the other's shirt, play footsy or offer to massage a sore muscle. There wasn't any pillow talk or sentimental conversation to make sleeping any more difficult than it already was. The rules were unspoken but they existed. They were still strangers at that point and they both knew the bed was no place for an orphaned, teenage girl and gentleman felon in his 30's to get to know one another. They ignored any awkwardness sleep induced. She always kept her eyes above shoulder level in the morning and he was careful not to look anywhere but Kate's eyes when her fits would leave her barely clothed or even partially exposed. This was how they built trust on the road.

During the day, they would play games or go swimming. He'd taken her out a few times for drinks she wasn't forced to get down or even accept. They'd unwind on a cloud of co-dependence. Seth would glare boyishly at beautiful women and Kate would roll her eyes. He'd make a playful declaration and chuckle. "C'mon, Katie Milady, you know you're the only girl for this Gecko." She'd laugh and shake her head, catching his wink before taking a sip of her cocktail. He'd help her to bed when she drank too much, she'd pull him from brawls when he drank too much. He'd leave her out a glass of water and Tylenol; she'd clean his injuries and tell him he won. They made a great team and Seth remembered this.

Seth was more sentimental than he let on; always dubbing Richie "the sensitive one." Though Seth thought back on the notes they'd leave each other in fog, as the other showered and the conversations they could maintain while she took a bath and he shaved his scruff. They didn't lock the bathroom door then and they certainly didn't hide behind it. They shared toothpaste, and shampoos; he could still remember the scent of Kate's damp hair, curling at the bottom as it air dried and scattered around her head like a crown on the bedding. It was always cleaner, sweeter, and more fragrant than he ever came out to be. Kate would leave her natural fragrance on Seth's clothes, as she slowly worked her way through his wardrobe.

Kate had her own clothing by then but found comfort in Seth's. There was a sense of security in wearing a man's clothing. She imagined belonging to the man whose boxers she'd slip on after a night of _bed sharing_ and he would be her greatest protector. In turn, Seth ached at the sight of seeing Kate don his garments. He hadn't noticed her do it in a while, granted the drugs and alcohol kept him pretty removed. He still loved the image of the young body strutting innocently around his company in boxers he was sure other women had pulled off him in the past. Kate was not those women though—Kate was marvelously different.

Seth's thick lashes fluttered over his dark eyes, peering into daydreams of the teen. Kate's wavy, chocolate hair cascading off her shoulders in a wild heap. Her timid smile and the way she'd tilt her head at a downward angle to conceal her blushing cheeks. She'd slip each smooth leg tenderly through the designer threads of his clothes, pulling the fabric up her thighs and around her untouched flesh. He'd seen countless women at various stages of undress but never Kate—never in the same light as the others anyway.

Seth thought back on encounters from his youth, the firmness of a young woman's body, how everything was in the place God had intended and skin was soft and supple. He imagined their bodies on Kate, who rewound in the fantasy and slid out of his boxers, purring his name against his throat, her teeth grazing his sense of decorum. It was _the old fashioned way_ a woman would find her way into his clothes and bed that he missed but it was the only way he knew before Kate. A fugitive smile confirmed his preference for Kate's method above all, but he would have traded his soul to meld the best of both worlds.

The stiffness in his lap pulsated, encouraging him to taper onto milder fantasies. He wondered what Kate made his clothes smell like now. The ever-changing aroma had always been bliss to his senses. Her scent mingled with his—worn clothes still warm from body heat. The longing was unbearable. He filled the void with hatred. It was her fault. Everything was Kate's fault and he wanted to ruin her for it.

As Kate's nightmares had become less frequent, Seth's increased with a vengeance. He needed her but she had pulled away, leaving him to combat the terrors alone. The resentments and grievances had been stacking to colossal heights for months. There was a wounding sense of abandonment that outraged him—he felt used, singled out; defeated. Kate was too good to spend her nights beside a thief anymore. She was too young to appreciate his company over drinks. She was bored; he couldn't entertain or inspire her. He wasn't brooding, he was explosive and that was more predictable than a pensive pessimist. Seth was outdated. She wanted Richie. She didn't want to be 'this Gecko's girl' anymore. Kate was just another tease: a too-good-to-be-true score that could only make you, if it didn't break you and it always broke you.

Kate had promised hope but she gave up on Seth. He couldn't recognize the eyes that looked upon her now; full of such immense insecurity and paranoia but they couldn't look in the mirror and recognize the face staring back either. Seth had given up on himself too; he just didn't know where it all went wrong or who gave up first.

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><p><strong>So sorry for the delay, folks. <strong>Ran into a snag that kept me from posting this chapter. 100% positive it is riddled with errors and a "draft feel" but I wanted to get it posted as soon as I could. My general policy when writing darker themes has always been to warn readers in advance of any graphic or sensitive material. **The next chapter takes an aggressive turn for the darker! **Ramblers get ramblin' straight on to the Hell I've birthed for them. Just a heads up. It will be uploaded within** 12-24 hours**. Thanks for tuning in!


	6. Old Dog

**A/N:** Sorry for the update delay- was conflicted about certain elements and had to do a massive overhaul. I won't shortchange any readers (hopefully) and will stick true to the story and intended direction. However, **due to content matter**, I've decided to split the chapter in half to better isolate particularly dark aspects for those who wish not to read it.

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><p>"Second opinions are hard to come by 'round here." Seth leaned his head on his balled, left fist. His left arm elbowed the tacky, threadbare chair facing the full spread of the room. Kate was taken aback by the cool, deepness of his voice. She did not recognize it as Seth's. She spun around, half-expecting to see someone else.<p>

"What's that?" Her brow perked behind her question. She crawled back on the bed and pulling her knees to her chest, eyeing Seth's stillness in anticipation. Regardless of the pains she knew and the hell he put her through, relative civility between them was not so easily dismissed by Kate. They used to have fun once; she remembered this well though doubted in his deteriorated state that Seth did.

"You were taking a quiz." Seth closed his eyes, systematically wiping wicked images from his mind; the sort of images that would make Richie feel right at home behind Seth's bloodshot eyes. Struggling to regain composure in the face of temptation and his brother's calm, soothing voice; Seth continued to downplay any physical signs of coveting Kate's unsullied body. Succumbing to the carnage was more difficult than his imagination led on. Seth had taken on the endeavor of the girl's livelihood with honor bound righteousness to protect her. He couldn't imagine the devolution he was fighting would ever have been an issue six months ago—he couldn't imagine it applied to himself anyway—unless it was evolution and Richie had been right all along.

Seth was at a disadvantage. He'd raised a gun to Sex Machine after hearing he had hit on Kate once. He'd knocked out a doorman and nearly gotten killed for it too. The thought of any man, peer, or bible-school-buddy making any advances on her infuriated him and lit his bones under his skin. His desires were weakening him and he knew he'd killed men for less in the past. Other men didn't understand. Other men could not understand and he believed Kate knew that too. The void that could only be filled with aspects of her began to growl and hunger for more. It was no longer out of light to protect her from men like his brother. It was out of a thirst to taste what men like his brother tasted. It was ownership. At this point, he'd consider staking Richie if he got in the way of his fantasy; Hell, if he got too close.

Intoxicated, Seth was a menace endangering the wholeness and dignity of those around him. His need to imitate Richie's brutality may have been a delusional aspiration but made Seth feel closer to his former partner-in-crime all the same.  
>Sober, Seth was understandably unapproachable and troubled at times; often preoccupied with the anxieties, traumatic spirals and remorse but he had always had control.<p>

On rare occasions, decent moments in the room's confines flickered by, regardless of his state of mind. Temporarily granted reprieve from his demons, Seth would pretend everything was okay and he'd be calm, secure and even-tempered. He would even be pleasant, finding cause to laugh and enjoy the lucidity. Until the roaring might of all the tragedy rushed upon him and he couldn't breathe unless it was in defense. He didn't enjoy being coherent then. He didn't enjoy being coherent at all. He never had.

The reality was too great to bear sober. Richie had chosen a life without Seth; walking undead and in the darkness, feasting on the flesh and blood of the living. The Gecko Brothers were by no means "the good guys" but they certainly weren't the evil ones either. Richie changed that. He had chosen evil personified over their brotherhood and Seth feared for him. He feared for Kate too. Most of all, he feared losing his control. Be it by embracing the depravity, or repressing it.

The battle for his dwindling morality was losing to his overwhelming need to corrupt. It had waged on for too long without release. Seth was a man split in two. He slaved under the clash of right and wrong, and all the smoky shades in between. All he had to do was choose and he'd be free. Every sprint of his imagination took him one step closer to making his first or final move. Seth knew it was a matter of time before it was out of his hands. It was like waiting on death row. 'Flip the switch, and get it over with.'

Kate thought back on the results Seth had inquired about but having completely forgotten what the quiz was even about, she flipped back to the page in the magazine. "A professional verdict may be worth pursuin'." She sighed, closing the pages once more and dragging her hair out of her face in a gentle swoop. She was decidedly careful not to focus too long on any particular mannerism Seth sexualized merely by being Seth Gecko.

"Was the journey through self-discovery a fruitful undertaking?" Seth still managed to speak in a superficially lyrical manner. It parodied his former bravado; another line of defense against Kate that she hadn't grown to understand yet. He had a tendency to sound as if he didn't know whether or not he was on a job, and supposed to be in charge or charming. He twisted words with his lips, rolling them on his tongue and intensifying inflections arbitrarily. His tone was never short on subtext. It was a stark contrast against Richie who spoke in a velvet monotone demand for compliance; like the disembodied voice that startled Kate moments before. A transition was taking place before her. It wasn't the Christian way of thinking but if she couldn't prevent Seth from destroying himself like his brother, she'd certainly see it to the end.

"Hardly arrived at the Tree of Knowledge." Kate grinned coyly. Her reluctance to disclose details encouraged Seth to pry further. He had never stopped prompting her for confessions. To date, there had been no safe Seth could not crack if it harbored a secret of Kate's. He had a knack for wrestling her reservations into agreement. Manipulating the unveiling of her whispered mysteries, each prod and poke was a lick of honey on the tongue of a famished man. Every victory was a deliberate performance; heightening his experience and making him feel as if he still had his Gecko touch.

Seth would playful tease Kate until she showed physical signs of thrill, entertainment, or the naïve huff of instigation. The process was among their slew of games, where he'd test her will to withhold information from him, and she'd try to last longer than the round before. It was excellent on long drives or over cold drinks but they hadn't played in a while.

"Well, hallelujah! Now I know there was a revelation. You ready to come clean, Bambi?" Seth charmed; his eyes closed as he fought off a dizzy spell.  
>"It's a stupid Cosmo quiz. You wouldn't find it very interesting."<br>"Don't underestimate me. I'm a man of refined tastes." Seth spoke in an even exhale.  
>"Refined? Then I'm positive it'd never interest you."<br>"It held your attention alright." Seth pointed out, waving the back of his hand at Kate to continue.  
>"You're gonna laugh. It's stupid."<br>"Sometimes I laugh at things that aren't stupid." Seth was rarely pressed to suggest a multidimensional side but always plenty ironic to compensate for his cryptic reflex.  
>"It's just some dumb sex quiz, it's silly. I don't know why I even took it." Kate regretted the words spilling out of her mouth and shook off a nervous laugh, as Seth's eyes darted open. The closeness had done them no favors. She barely controlled a blush by pretending she was talking to Scott—triggering a defensive sorrow she now worried about controlling.<br>"Kate that is exactly what I find very interesting." Seth's deadpan response tailed a gentle pause where, for once, he was taken by surprise.  
>"Maybe you should take the quiz then. Even the playing field for once." Kate held a blithe grin Seth couldn't help wince at.<br>"I already know what sex is, Cherry blossom." Kate remained unfazed by the evocative pet name. It wouldn't be long before he was up to his old spirits- then chased away by his clockwork ghosts.  
>"You were around during its discovery." She crooned.<br>"That's a myth. I merely revolutionized it."  
>"Old dogs' gotta have tricks too." Kate heard Seth chuckle at her counter.<p>

The age gap between them had always been a sensitive subject. There was nothing they could do about it; though nothing they did called for them to do something about it anyway. It was an unspoken politeness that they both adhered to basic age appropriate behavior. It was another stab at maintaining decency for the sake of preserving whatever good was left between either of them. This was much more important to Seth than Kate, or rather, much more frequently a thought on the forefront of his mind. Granted, both Kate and Seth knew it would be easier to spar and communicate if they could gauge the other's comfort when more intimate or serious themes were introduced into conversation. Seth had been reluctant to tiptoe down that alley. Naturally, albeit reluctantly, Kate followed suit. She was growing up but had no one to watch her do it. Her family was gone and Seth averted her maturity like the plague.

"You can always come to me for advice. Any questions or ideas, concerns. Especially ideas—" Seth was biting the inside of his cheeks trying not to laugh.  
>"Oh my God, no, we're not having the talk. Thank you, Foster Father but I can handle it from here and if I can't, Google is there to pick up the slack." Kate couldn't tell if he was pulling her leg but knew it would wind up an uncomfortable conversation—not because of boundaries that didn't exist but because of his state of mind and likely, the inability to remember it the next day. Seth was treading waters he would have rather drowned in before and his intensions perplexed Kate.<br>"All the Way Kate." He tossed out another pet name.  
>"Stop it."<br>"Katie X-Rated." His cheeks dimpled above his grin.  
>"You're impossible." Kate shook her head at Seth. He was stepping farther out of the shallow end unchecked. She was used to being the adult between the two but Seth hadn't seemed to notice he'd become the child. Their interactions could be playful but lacked equality since the Twister. At least then, having admitted to kissing Kyle at the insistence of Seth, his intimidation was discreetly frisky. Seth hadn't been on a bender lasting months back then. He was safer and she was safer; and it seemed so long ago—the distance made Kate's heart sink even lower. The repartee and games would not last. It was merely a question of how soon and how bad? Being a creature of hardship, Kate could feel the walls closing in.<p>

"Cosmo quizzes are the at home piss tests of psychiatric diagnostics." Seth proclaimed. "Don't check for anything you need to know because they can't tell you anything you don't already know."  
>"So why take them?" Kate tilted her head curiously. She wondered how Seth could explain the motives of millions of people who took those silly magazine quizzes. Her hair fell to one side and tickled her arm. It ran a shiver up her neck that triggered the reality of the room's briskness.<br>"Affirmation. Cheap, easy, dishonest affirmation." Seth answered matter-of-factly.  
>"Well why lie if it won't change anything?"<br>"To make you feel you have. It's all about affirmation." Seth spoke with lazy hand gestures and watched Kate process his theory. She wasn't offended so much as uneasy about how right Seth was. Seth was always right. "Affirmation is important." He continued in a tone pitched to instigate and ensnare her attentions. "You're young, curious, and the world is at your feet but you're too afraid to look down. Hormones, expectations, shame, tampons. What do I do? Where's it s'posed to go? Gag reflexes, age of consent, lipstick, too much tequila, too little clothes. Nintendo." Seth weighed his hands up and down animatedly, tilting his head from side to side expressing the importance of his mock-enlightenment targeting the needs and woes of being a teenage girl.  
>"You're a regular Confucius, Seth."<br>"I know women, what can I say?"  
>"You know something alright." Kate focused her discomfort on the "age of consent" addition and wondered if he was insinuating a methodical statement. His monologue said he wasn't but his tone and the low growl he seemed to stifle, said otherwise.<br>"You're stalling. It's cute to try but a futile effort, sweetheart."  
>"You're reciting slam poetry on the plight of being female. Whose effort is futile again?"<br>"Female and young. Entirely different demographic." Seth corrected.  
>"I guess there's just so much more to learn from you."<br>"Can you at least share the quiz's objective or do I need to break you twice?" Seth agonized through an artful sneer.

Kate let an eye roll make its way to Seth. It was lighthearted and good-spirited but he began to look at her like the snob he believed she pretended not to be. The jaded light he shed on her made it easier to pluck her strings and disturb her dignified glow.  
>"I understand your reluctance to share. Takes more than a key to open you vault." Seth was smooth, laying down a foundation of impropriety that Kate was oddly okay to indulge.<br>"Takes more than a master heist-man too."  
>"How about two?" Seth stabbed.<br>Seth never brought up even a notion of Richie existing. She was starting to form an understanding of what the night had in store for her—or rather, what Seth had in store for the night.  
>"Didn't you get sent up river tryin' to open the wrong vault, Jailbird?" Kate quickly dodged Seth's smug hint and grew more fearful.<br>"Got out though, didn't I, Jailbait? Lived to penetrate another vault another day and I gotta tell ya'—a powerful tool, an experienced touch and just the right amount of pressure makes all the difference in that moment of entry." Seth looked rabid. He spoke with a grin that bared his flawless teeth. His tongue gliding over the slow-bleeding cut he'd bitten into his bottom lip. It was red from bloodstains and over-stimulation. The deep brown of his eyes peered upward from below furrowed brows. He leaned forward. Grasping the front of the chair's arms, Seth pulled his body to the edge of the chair. His focus zeroed in on Kate's inexperience, and modest curiosity. His tone was guttural and honeyed, coercing Kate's primitive, unguided reactions.

"The ultimate violation suddenly becomes the most intensely gratifying climax of manual achievements." Kate found it hard to maintain eye contact but harder to look away, as an electric storm of adrenaline rose from her lower abdomen, jetting through her body. Kate had lost. She would confess the details of the quiz upon his next request. But it didn't come. 'It's going to be one of those nights again...' Kate prepared herself.

The silence was a vulture sharpening its beak on the skull of noise. It replaced the oxygen in the motel room with a chill that made Kate pin her chin to her knees with a shiver. Seth ran his fingers along his swollen bottom lip and let out a cynical chuff.

"So when will Prayin' Kate upgrade to Katie Naked anyway?" Seth had begun to spiral and succumb to the early steps of a blackout. Kate was used to those sorts of questions as late nights turned into early mornings. Seth just never remembered asking them. It was no surprise however, as their contact was limited and strained, best case scenario.  
>"Wouldn't call that an upgrade." Kate defied with her eyes on his long fingers skiing in blood.<br>"Would my brother?" The silence would have been good fortune, had it not retreated.  
>"You know good and well he'd have no opinion to offer on the subject."<p>

Seth scoffed and lit a cigarette, "I'll have to shed some light for him then." The smoke drifted to an open vent but the smell conquered the room anyway. It mingled with the green tea and jasmine mist Kate sprayed on the beds to keep the room from going stale.  
>"Richie—now, Richie. He could see things. Saw Santanico. He saw what was coming. Four-eyed, punk could look at shit and tell you the recipe behind it. It's what made him such a good Boxman… being able to see things, everything. He could even see you, buttercup. I didn't see you. Then again I'm not afflicted with his…" Seth eyed Kate up and down, pawing at his 5'oclock shadow, "…prodigious vision." Every syllable was an strike; a warning of what could come to pass. "You were just some little Miss Crucifix. Another sweet sixteen, powder-puff princess with a coward for a father and psychopath for a brother. Guess that makes us alike; huh, Pussycat?" Seth's question was loaded and the mere mention of her family enraged her. It took every ounce of strength she could muster not to show weakness. Seth didn't mind tears—especially if he'd earned them.<br>"Richie could see a lot and maybe that's why he's not here." Kate leaned back against the headboard. "He saw it all and out of everything, you were the only detail he couldn't bear to look at anymore." Kate dug her heels in the mattress but did not retreat behind a joking grin or teasing eye roll.  
>"Meow… Kitty's got claws." Seth purred, sucking on his bottom lip and gripping each arm rests with on hand. He rapped his fingertips on the furniture. It was an even, non-threatening tempo but as it sped up, so did Kate's heartbeat. "I'll be damned, baby brother's child temptress: the Dewdrop Darling, all aglow with the ethereal splendor of mouthing off to her thieving and murderous captor."<br>"You're not my captor anymore, Seth." Kate shifted in annoyance and swung her legs over the bed, dropping her feet to the floor and standing swiftly. Seth watched her body adjust to the spring of the mattress and the boxers crowd up her thighs. Her chest heaved under the strength of her vehement declaration. She headed toward the bathroom door, hearing Seth snort a long inhale and clear his throat.

Seth could taste his opportunity. The sharp, jarring kick of an intimate corruption made his mouth water. The taste was a metallic tang, hypnotic in its attachment to Kate; and he savored every it's surge. The cocaine dripping down the back of his throat collided on his tongue. He thumbed open a prescription bottle and tipped it into his mouth. Crunching on uppers, he peered up at Kate from under his eyebrows and with a smirk that told her he was going nowhere that night.

"Kate," Seth baited. She stopped in her tracks. Kate was turned on her hip, locking eyes over her shoulder, trying to be brave. "I will always be your captor."

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><p><strong>Hope you stay tuned for the second half. It's going to be a long night for us all. Don't forget to drop a line, my pets.<strong>


	7. Uncle Eddie's Wisdom

**A/N:** Heartbreakers & Firecrackers: I ask you to think back on **'Old Dog' **(chapter six) and the intense, emergency edit it underwent moments before publication, that resulted in it being split into two parts. Updates for **The Normal One** have been slightly delayed since then but luckily appear to be leveling out. With that said, several respected voices have suggested I do the same with this chapter and though it was not in my initial design, I'm inclined to agree with them. This chapter wound up being a fifteen-or-so page installment – which was suffocating, especially due to the graphic and dark material it focused on. The only other option was to cut **imperative** details (much like the ultimatum of **'Old Dog'**) and risk the story's integrity. As that would only serve to inevitably cheat the readers, I could not let that happen.

**Upside:** The price of story integrity is incredibly reasonable and worth investing in! For the low, low rate of laying the plot's last few bricks in its own chapter, you can ensure the leap to explicit content is not without merit, purpose or tact!

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><p>Pink mist carried through the morning glow. Drops of blood spraying on the filth-spattered clothing of the orphan, marooned in an orange desert she did not know. Her shirt was soaked through with sweat, the gore of somebody else's grisly demise, and the all too real reminder of a fight she would not soon forget. The stench of exertion and remains: a consolation prize for her participation and a punishment for her survival. She peered into the vast stretch of foreign land before her. The spread was a shadow offering no shade or refuge. It twisted in the distance, taunting her dilated eyes with a rippling horizon, beckoning her to chase a deathtrap mirage. The girl had championed Death and He did not appreciate being bested. Death clung to her. His chill ran up her spine, while the hot, Mexican sun flushed sweat down it. She felt watched; but also as if she had skipped out on a check. She was all that could ever remain of a Final Girl. In the gunshot of an instant, she deteriorated to her most vulnerable state. She was a raw, exposed nerve; alone, detached and waiting for Death to make His move.<p>

The culmination of conflicting realities, traumas, and unspeakable anguish radiated through her soul. The girl's shock ran an infection to her core, dismantling her in entirety. She was lost, and small. She was the ash abandoned by flames. She was no longer concrete or with direction; she was fragile and empty, and helpless. The overdose of reality was a paralyzing bully that throttled her numb. Her frailty was seduced by the cavalier surrender of an innate recklessness only the mad or dead could confess to knowing. The girl was mutating; being dragged to the doorstep of further calamity.

Solitude spawned desperation that fell in line with her powerlessness and instigated her need to Frankenstein a family for herself. The newly orphaned Kate needed an ally.

Kate followed her feet to the place where a familiar face appeared just as lost as she. He fixed his sights on the distance before him, but knew no matter where he went, it would never be far enough. The sun reflected off his eyes, flickering against the gloss of fresh tears. His neck flushed a ruby hue under the protective rays keeping the night's monsters at bay. The bite his brother had given him throbbed, staining his expensive shirt as it bled. Kate glanced at the wound – the blood was an eerily beautiful shade of red that reminded her of happy cartoons. She could see his brother smirking, licking crimson from his fingertips and lips.

Kate pitied the brothers. When she met them, they had no one, and now they had less. The man no longer held the presence he once had. Seth was once fiercely terrifying but seemed to have aged significantly under the twirling arms of an unforgiving clock. He seemed ill and just as lost as she. The fear Kate allowed to manifest in her gut, reserved specifically for Seth Gecko, had dissipated into nothing. She had nothing left to fear losing. She had nothing left at all.

There was an uneasy double-take that jerked through Seth's neck. He spotted the youthful survivor approaching him – fearlessly. A fear flooded him suddenly. He couldn't remember how long it had been since his heart beat at a normal tempo: weeks, months – years, more likely. The labored pulsation in his chest made him dizzy and he had to shake the fear from his mind's eye. A bigger part of him than not feared he was still caught in the Twister's games; and that Kate wasn't coursing toward him. The hopes that she had survived were ones he could not yet relinquish to the everyday civilian casualty. He would rather not know of her outcome than face the chance that she had perished in the bar: a result of his crimes.

Seth struggled to keep his heart at a fair pace. Tremors rattled his core and sprinted for his fingers. His hands trembled and he was lost to the shame of his fear. Kate advanced in a smooth glide. Her waiflike grace crossed the unpaved ground between them with a confidence he never considered she'd possess. Small clouds of dust billowed at her feet and around her calves. His every curious eyelash, dared to slow her stride to a memorable sway he silently prayed was real.

Kate was taken aback by the state of Seth and his devolution. A muffled neediness dragged his shoulders down and kept his eyes, ever leery, at a squint. Seth looked as tired as she imagined she did. More than that, however, Seth looked homesick. A tragic condition deemed incurable for the two survivors. The Kate of yesterday's no longer watched through virgin eyes, awaiting the collapse of the world, nor sought beauty to be contrary. Kate was not Kate, any more than Seth was, Seth.

The versions of themselves they had rectified against nature, nurture and married to the combat of long-hauls hard times, had vacated them both. Spirited into the night like teenage runaways, chasing a phantom guide to the places one goes when they are never to be heard from again. Kate was no more "Kate" than Seth was, "Seth." With no one else left to mourn who they were, they mourned themselves, in the form the Twister had left them in. Depending on the suffocation of white noise to drown out the echo of countless yesterday's turn becoming who they were, drifted out of understanding in a ghostly purr that offered little closure.

Kate locked eyes with Seth. For the first time, she saw the world as it truly was: unfiltered and naked, under the beating lamp of the sun and watchful eyes of the universe. The wisdom she'd acquired overnight peeled back the tapestry of childlike naivety and burdened the soul with truth. There was no unseeing the darkness; and the panic of an unrecognizable world pried at the idle specimen she had resolved to. Yesterday's Kate no longer watched through the windows of her eyes with rose-tinted glasses and hope. She was left in a glacial stand-still.

The space between the two, familiar faces began to blend into the world around them. Seth kept his disbelief harnessed to Kate's every step. He found his perception skewed. His judgment was driven by simplicity, survival and pleasure. Processing Kate had required more structure than his current state had the capacity for. The Preacher's daughter, fluent in Psalms and forgiveness, the shy, modest teen had become a Final Girl and outlived nearly everyone but the hardened crook and his vampire-brother. It was all too much.

Kate closed the space between herself and Seth. She countered his cool lean against a convertible, with her own casual pose. Her bruised body couldn't do much else and she didn't want to fall to pieces. Truth be told, she neither had it in her, nor morphed into the type who blubbered over spilled blood. The mischievous ambiguity between them undermined: "You want some company?" Her voice was calm but her soul was pleading. For the first time since darkness, she saw Seth as he was to her – if only for a fleeting moment. It was in his smile; and it was weak, but it was his. "Yea."

Jesus, had she ever been so young?

Kate could feel the corners of her lips twitch. She could almost remember warmness of life before the Geckos. It was unthinkable, how far the two had come, yet how far they remained from one another. Kate stiffened her jaw, stifling a brazen sob. Her memory was in competition against her survival as her greatest adversary. She shucked the self-pity from her mind, knowing it would only upset her further and she refused to let Seth see her emerge from the bathroom a broken girl.

Kate could hear a faint melody sing from behind the closed bathroom door. It was unusual in the way watching a color TV becomes after growing accustomed to black and white. Seth had never played music in the room before, nor acknowledged a particular sense of interest in tunes. They'd spent hours, days- weeks in complete silence without ever filling the room with music. Kate pressed her ear to the door. The song was subtle, slow, and old. It was not at all what she would have imagined Seth listening to. It was an uplifting tune with sorrowful lyrics. She closed her eyes; taking in each note and syllable she could make out. She knew the song. At least, she had heard it before, she just couldn't place where.

The lullaby was classic and eerie. It had no business being played in the desert- let alone by a man of Seth's narrowed interests. Stoned, drunk and irate, Seth didn't need nostalgia filling his ears. Seth needed about a gallon of water, a triple dose of Tylenol and a good night's sleep or two. Kate needed Seth to need this too. She had outlived her bloodline- reluctantly. She had witnessed her brother set fire to the familial ties that bound them together as siblings. Scott was more than a few signatures, legal formalities, international custody disputes and court fees. Scott was more than the bite that killed her father. Her father was more than the mystery behind her mother's death. Seth's placement in her life was imperative and an overdose would completely dismantle even the cardboard-stable foundation, she had grown accustomed to building on with Seth. For the bereaved orphan Kate had become, she was hardly a seasoned funeral maven. In fact, Kate had never actually been a funeral. She imagined how awful it must feel to be an attendee at a service, viewing or vigil for a loved one- and how much worse it would be for those tasked with the event's arrangements. Kate did not need the experience to know that she was not cut-out for that sort of responsibility. Seth needed to straighten himself out.

Kate pulled from the door and rested against a shower-adjacent wall. It was paper thin, absorbing the freedom roaming on the other side. It felt alive. The thrum of the air conditioner juddered behind the cheap wallpaper. It dulled Seth's music to a hushed fancy, and she wasn't even sure she recognized the tune anymore. There was no sound of Seth. There was no clattering of prescription bottles. The unceasing tap of a razor cutting cocaine had vanished. It's sister annoyance, the screech that followed spacing the powder into neat, white lines, had also stopped. Glass wasn't breaking and nothing seemed to be getting heaved across the room in a fit. Seth wasn't yelling. Kate reckoned Seth must have finally called it a night. Even with his last few doses, the stretch he'd gone without sleep could have been just long enough to overpower the pills and powder. Kate could only hope the stacking evidence rang true. She didn't want to spend another night locked in a motel bathroom. She needed openness to breathe, even if it was only the musty air of their tacky, unwelcoming room.

Seth was still and silent. His form appeared as if the universe pressed pause, halting only his movements. Even his center was without spring. The rise and fall had ceased. No lifting chest: no heartbeat; no pulse, no respiration- no life- utterly motionless. Seth's eyes were neither open nor shut. As if photographed half-way to a blink, his eyes were fixed in disinterest. Cloudy and pale, he looked blind. His eyes were bleached of their chocolate depth. His skin was no longer warm hues of bronze or ruby but doll-like, lacking his usual glow. Relaxed to a slight, hinted smile, Seth's head rested on the carpet underneath him. His legs were outstretched. With one arm at his side and its palm facing up, as it clutched a cigarette between two fingers. The other lay atop his chest peacefully; as if created to rest in that precise spot all along.

The cigarette was a balanced column of ash. There was no telling how long it'd been since Seth's mouth dragged from its spout. It had died heating virgin smoke, as it coiled in an escape to the ceiling. Seth had died, doing more or less the same thing.

Kate smiled, resting her head on the wall and breathed deeply. She snapped from her fantasy, hearing a change of song beyond the door. She shook her head in disgust; she didn't wish death on anyone- including Seth. There were times, however, that she would daydream elaborate fantasies where Seth died. He always went peacefully and there was no disgrace or filth in his passing. She would tend to his remains and a service –a good Christian service. She even imagined telling Richie off, banishing him from the service, if he tried to show his face. Richie would fall to his knees, sorrowfully mourning his brother, and in a final poetic climax, would come to understand the value of human life and change his ways, devoting his life to the Lord!

It was just too damn comedic- even for Kate.

Kate dodged her peripheral reflection in the mirror. She knew she wasn't exactly dressed-to-impress, and she could feel her hair falling in a wild mess around her face. She found that lounging about didn't help with her perpetual state of dishevelment but she was not vain. If anything, she found comfort in the lazy life of a stowaway. Being plain and anonymous, invisible and ghostlike, were just a few of its spoils. Did anyone even know she was still alive? Had she been anything more than a temporary fixture in the lives of others? Was that all she had been created to do- be tool to flesh out someone else's story- always supporting, but never the lead? She didn't mind not being the lead, but she knew she could be more than the disposable prop she felt she had become. Kate had let the darkness in again. She forced a smile, to trick her body into thinking she was "okay." Convincing her insides that she was anything more than "okay" was an impossibility that would unravel her guise entirely.

Kate pitched a soft hand toward the metal doorknob. Her silly nail polish, the color of forget-me-nots, had all but faded from elegant digits. Though, even in the face of the evanescence, her left ring-finger refused defeat. It flaunted the death of color in ragged streaks. Sentimentality, nonsensical and nameless, barred her from scraping off the rest. Watching the displacement of color, she coursed her fingertips up the door absentmindedly. She unlocked the flimsy latch defense with flick of her index finger. The doorknob was cold to the touch, drawing her attention to the lock and prompting her to think twice before absentmindedly forfeiting that line of defense too. After all, it was all she had to keep Seth's cruelties at bay. Caution took a one-way-toss to the wind, as Kate opened the door.

Seth's shoulders were broader than Kate had remembered. His body was poised in the heart of the doorway, with both arms pressed against either side of the frame. His chest was out, heaving and soaking his white shirt. Seth locked eyes with Kate. He held the silence of the pause in his ravenous smirk. There was no space for Kate to push through and she felt trapped in the face of Seth's arrogant spatial claim. She feared a repeat of the last encounter she had had with him in the bathroom. She feared Seth's hedonistic abandon.

"Trick or treat," Seth winked. Kate's eyes swept from side-to-side; as if searching for a camera that was trying to catch her response to Seth's eccentricity. "I'm a little behind schedule." He confessed behind a grin, he must have stolen from a fox. He teased his way further into Kate's personal space. She was reluctant to give-way, and nearly successful too, but it was an art to Seth.

Violations of all shapes and sizes, colors and textures, were nothing but different dances to Seth. All he needed was the right partner and the right choreography; hell, the right partner similar tastes for tripping the light fantastic would be plenty. Seth knew all the steps, had all the right moves and he didn't need a beat to keep his sway in rhythm. This put Kate, who couldn't scheme a private piss break, at quite a disadvantage of Seth's questionable and very illegal passions.

Seth reached for a washcloth to the side of Kate. She scooted in the opposite direction to dodge his touch. He distracted her with a step forward. His body commanded hers to press back against the sink. His tattooed arm swooped around her other side, ensnaring her form. Kate kept her face at a strong, awkward angle away from Seth's. With his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, he turned on the faucet. She could feel him jostle the cloth under the water that steamed at her back. A rosy blush crept up her neck, around her ears and purposed themselves on her cheeks.

Seth's expertise was narrowly unforgiving and precise. A lifetime of felonious masteries and tunnel-vision fixated around the coveted objects of his bogus sense of entitlement. From the concealment of his back pockets, he would refine the details of devastations yet to inflict his particular brand of mayhem. Seth had amassed a scrapbook of depraved and merciless inhumanities. His eyes would grow sore from focused squinting, as he thought about on payoff rather than the _tango_ itself. Seth didn't know any other way to process "ambition." Especially once he acquired a Richie-esque curiosity, often wondering if he could stomach even a fraction of what he'd conjured up. Whether he possessed a weak endurance for the vile and perverse, or a constitution that mirrored Satan's very own, it made little difference to Seth if it was not on par with his brother's composure. And if anyone could give Satan a run for their money, it was Richie

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?"  
>"You're never too old to trick or treat." Seth replied with a hoarse confidence voice, maneuvering his neck to meet her eyes. "If anything, I'm a little too old to be tricked." He sneered, seemingly amused by an inside joke he had with himself.<p>

Seth's biography would be a chronicle of illicit half-accomplishments. Though he beamed with pride at the hundreds of unsolved crimes and open cases that he inspired, it was never enough. Over roughly three decades of lawlessness, Seth had come to realize: it would never be enough. Simply put, he enjoyed being an outlaw far too much to do anything else. He found intimacy in the anonymity of crime. He knew he was a lot of things- most of them not good- but at least as a crook, he wasn't corrupt. In the conventional sense, that is. People knew what to expect from a man like Seth. He had his code, like all men have their code, but Seth was of the few to honor it. Seth could honor his, because he knew what being a man implied. Uncle Eddy had laid it out for Seth and Richie long before their balls had dropped or life even stopped being a game. All the same, the brothers took it to heart. _"Police, thief, chief, or priest—don't matter how you spell it. You're only ever a beast or deceased."_

Seth was certainly not deceased. In fact, he'd had nothing but time to toil with the violent ideations in his back pockets. Seth knew Richie would understand his need for a dose of mayhem but found working alone was still unsatisfying. To cope with the inadequacy of his position and abilities as a "professional" passed his prime, Seth converted his every waking thought to another vivid, violent daydream. It wasn't long before Seth began exploring the intimacy of power and brute force -however imaginary- under an erotic, red bulb that lit up his filthy mind without warning. Seth's ideas pertaining to sex and violence became the animalistic howl throttling him into a state of cruel arousal. The erotism was intolerable- made worse by while living in such close proximity to Kate. There was no satisfaction, release or end to the agony- not the sort he needed anyway.

The long, torturous months of unnatural lust, mania, shock, narcotics, fear, heartbreak, guilt - and everything inbetween - had him defeated. He bargained, on his knees and through desperate sobs, trading the last shred of his humanity for the chance to hold on just a little while longer, accompanied by a beast's will to survive. Seth had followed his stiffening anticipation to the wicked threshold only the Gecko brothers could see.

Seth was going to dance in Richie's shoes.

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><p>Don't get discouraged, my chickens, chapter eight is following in a chase. I know the explicit material has been pushed back by the past few chapters, but trust me when I say, <strong>its better this way.<strong> Things are going to get very messy and it has to be perfect. Just bear with me while I combat the completion and final edit of chapter eight. I am happy to answer questions regarding upcoming content, questions or concerns. All contact information is on my profile page.

Please don't forget my countless warnings. I trust you will all make the wise decision to avoid triggering material if necessary. I'd rather lose readers than have readers lose themselves, so please_ read responsibly_. If you would prefer an edited version,**please contact me**and I will discretely oblige. My profile page provides all the information you'll need to reach me.

I also suggest you check out the Tumblr or LiveJournal linked, as it is there you will find updates/previews/messages and contests I've got set up for you word nerds. Furthermore, the "soundtrack" to **The Normal One**, which will be essential in upcoming chapters (starting in chapter eight,) will be posted on both of those sites as well.


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